


Faster Than a Beating Heart

by agent85



Series: 52 Stories in 52 Weeks [44]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supergirl Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Canon-Typical Violence, Evil Holden Radcliffe, F/M, Leo Fitz is Holden Radcliffe's Son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8933707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: When Fitz's estranged father breaks out of prison, Jemma will do whatever it takes to protect her best friend. After all, she's not just a mild-mannered assitant—she's Supergirl! But when it stops being about bullets and bombs and turns into affairs of the heart, Jemma wonders if she's found an adversary she's powerless to defeat.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruthedotcom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthedotcom/gifts).



> Happy (belated) birthday, Ruth! You truly are a hero to us all. <3
> 
> And welcome to week forty-nine of my [52 short stories in 52 weeks challenge](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/52)! This week's prompt: a story about justice being done.

Jemma tries not to look, tries not to look like she's not looking, and definitely tries to figure out what she should do. As Jemma Morse, the very human and extremely normal assistant to media mogul Melinda May, she's supposed to be sifting through emails and answering calls. But how can she sit at her desk when Fitz won't be at his? How can she focus on work when just beyond those glass doors, the FBI is interrogating him, and she doesn't even know why?

They obviously went into that conference room and locked those doors because they want some privacy, but Fitz is her best friend in the world, and well, what's the point of having super hearing if she can't look out for him? She's tempted to just lower her glasses and look straight through the wall, but that's certain to attract attention. So instead, she stands awkwardly in the middle of their busy office, pretends to thumb through a stack of file folders, and listens.

"Leopold Fitzwilliam Radcliffe," says the agent, "that is your real name, isn't it?" 

Fitz clears his throat. "Yeah. I mean it  _was_ . . ."

"But you changed it," she says. 

"Yeah." 

Jemma can hear the shame in his voice, but she can only imagine the agent's satisfied smirk as she brushes that single streak of red hair out of her face.  

"Mr. Radcliffe."

"Fitz, _please_. It's Fitz."

"Mr. Fitz," she allows, "I'm sure you're aware that your father escaped from prison this morning. Has he called you?"

"No."

"Has he come to your house?"

Fitz lets out a sigh. "No."

"Has he attempted to contact you in any way?"

"No," Fitz says, "no, he wouldn't even know where to look. That's why I—"

She knows him. She knows that he's hunched over, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. She clutches her file folders to her chest and wishes she could just take off her glasses and save him from this. She pushes them up her nose instead.

"He can't find me," Fitz concludes. "I don't want him to."

"Mr. Fitz," says the agent, "your father is unhinged and extremely dangerous."

Her hearing is acute enough that she picks up the sound of him parting his lips, and she imagines the way his head would nod. "So, nothing's changed, then. That's good to know."

"Are there any friends he might want to contact?"

"If it weren't already apparent by the trail of bodies he leaves in his wake—" He lets out a noise that's just shy of a frustrated grunt. "He hates people. So no, he didn't have any friends."

"As his son, you must have some—"

"The day my father set off a toy bomb and killed half a dozen people is the day I stopped being his son."

She dares to look now, just a quick glance, and sees the way his hands are balled into fists, the way every muscle betrays his anger.

The way he's trying not to cry. 

She's still trying to piece it all together, almost missing it when he puts his messenger bag over his shoulder and leaves. She follows him out to the veranda that is actually a glorified window and puts her hands in her pockets.

Fitz flashes a smile and averts his gaze. "I'm guessing you were listening to that whole . . ." He gestures vaguely with his hands. "Thing."

She watches him, waiting for him to look at her. "You told me your dad was in prison, but you never said—"

"Because I didn't want you to look at me that way." He turns his head and looks at her like she's exactly what he expected, like this is his punishment for keeping things from her. She adjusts her glasses and tries to school her expression.

"Do you want to know the worst part?" He waits for an answer, then shrugs. "He wasn't always crazy. He spent hours with me in his basement lab, teaching me everything he could. My mum encouraged it. She said we were science pals."

"So you, uh," she says, clearing her throat, "you never saw any signs?"

Fitz frowns, shaking his head. "He laughed a lot, made jokes. But when he tinkered in his lab, he was quiet. He was too afraid of losing his job." Fitz kicks at the ground. "He was angry, too. No one knew how angry until . . . until-" 

"It was too late," she finishes, putting a hand on his lower arm. His eyes flick up to her and then back down.

"He, um, he had ideas. _Great_ ideas for, for bigger and better things. He had this design for artificial intelligence, but he was working for a toy company. He'd show them his schematics, and they'd just laugh at him. Tell him it was impractical."

"And he didn't . . . argue his case? Find another job?"

"No!" Fitz flexes his hand, and Jemma tightens her grip on him. "He was a coward. He was too afraid to lose what he had to even go looking for something better. So he didn't say anything, or do anything. He just kept working on his designs in secret, teaching me, because he knew that I wouldn't understand what he was really doing. He kept telling me that his work was going to save the world, but the toys were gonna kill him. And I guess he decided to take matters into his own hands, because he put a bomb in a toy and sent it to his boss. Only problem was that his boss wasn't in the office that day, and his assistant opened the package instead." He takes in a shaky breath and lets it out. "He killed her and five other people."

Jemma takes a step back, struck by the news, but she knows her mistake when she feels him stiffen. She steps even closer than before, moving her hand to his shoulder. She doesn't know if there are any words that anyone can say, but Fitz covers her hand with his, and she hopes he understands.

"But hey, you have a homicidal maniac in the family, too, so you know where I'm coming from."

He looks at her hopefully, like it's a joke, when they both know it isn't. Somehow, it helps.

"At least he knows enough to keep his distance," she says, rubbing up and down his shoulder with her thumb. He shakes his head though, moving towards his messenger bag.

"I found this on my desk this morning."

He fumbles through its contents before producing a little doll and pulls the string on its back.

" _Son_ ," says a voice that's too old to be a toy's, " _meet me at our favorite place. I'll be waiting for you_."

"Fitz."

He stuffs the doll back in his bag and folds his arms.

"I don't know what to do."

"Why did you lie to them?"

"I don't know!"

She sees the tears in his eyes, and waits. 

"I just," he continues, "I've spent so long trying to forget what he did. Trying not to be angry about it. But Jemma, I hate him."

There's so much pain in his eyes that she simply has to wrap her arms around him, holding him tight. She knows how to fly, but sometimes she wishes she had different powers than these, that she could reach in his heart and take the hurt out of it. That she could open her heart and show him that she'll always stand by him. The hug is the best she can do.

He's the one to break the embrace, but she thinks she sees understanding in his eyes. She's about to say something when the door opens, and the FBI agent appears.

"I'm leaving an agent here," she says, "in case your father shows up."

The agent turns to leave, and Fitz looks back at Jemma, asking a silent question. She gives him the best answer she can.

"Agent Hand," he says, making her stop in her tracks, "There's, um, something I have to tell you."

* * *

Jemma tries to stay calm as she watches Fitz walk down the pier towards the old arcade, reminding herself that there's a team of agents here to protect him. Fitz pinches at the microphone under his shirt to bring it closer to his mouth.

"A-approaching the target now."

"You don't need to speak into the wire for it to work," Agent Hand reminds him.

"Oh," he says, fumbling for the mic once again, "copy . . . copy that."

He's almost into the door when something catches her eye—the symbol of the House of El, painted on one if those kiddie rides that she usually sees outside of grocery stores. She hasn't been Supergirl long enough for this to be a reference to anyone but her cousin, and she wishes he were here, or that she could be half the hero he is. Instead, she's standing here in her glasses and cardigan and letting Agent Hand protect Fitz.

"Echo team, move into position," Hand commands, and when Fitz disappears into the warehouse, Jemma follows Hand back to the FBI van. 

"You can't let anything happen to Fitz," she says. Hand gives no reaction.

"His father killed an agent the last time we apprehended him," she says. "We're not taking any chances."

"Agent Hand—"

"Dr. Simmons, the only reason you're here is that your friend wouldn't do this without you. So be quiet and stay out of the way."

Would Hand say the same to her if she was wearing her cape? It's hard to tell. Jemma's superhero debut has been rough so far, with enough mistakes that some people still have trouble trusting her. Fitz does, though. He always has. 

She sits in the van with them, listening as Fitz calls out to his father. When they hear an answer, Hand takes out her gun and watches their monitor. After a few beats, she draws her lips into a thin line.

"We have eyes on Radcliffe. Tactical teams mobilize."

Jemma climbs out of the van with them, only to feel Hand pushing her back. "We can't do our jobs and worry about you, too."

Before Jemma can argue, they're gone. She looks down as they approach the entrance to the warehouse, and crawls back into the van to watch the feed. She can see him now, just the back of him. The camera is focused on Radcliffe himself.

Fitz turns around when the agents swarm in, calling out at them to stop.

"Hands where I can see them," commands Hand, weapon drawn. "Now!"

"Dad, put your hands up!"

There's silence in the room as all eyes are on Radcliffe, who looks at Fitz in disappointment.

"Fitz," he says, "how could you?"

"Suspect not cooperating. Weapons free!"

"No, no!"

It's Fitz's cry for them to stop that's ignored as bullets start flying, and she's the only one who sees the horror on his face. But as the bullets pierce Radcliffe, he breaks instead of bleeds. He cracks into a thousand pieces and shatters, leaving a thousand shards of glass and a doll.

"It's not him," shouts Fitz, "he's not here!"

" _I told you to come alone_ ," says the doll, " _now run_."

"What?"

" _RUN!_ "

Jemma's glasses are off before the agents react, and she only has a glimpse of the smoke that fills the screen before her cape catches the breeze. She flies above the warehouse and punches down through the ceiling, sucking up the poison gas to a chorus of choking men and women. The poison shouldn't harm her, but from the way they sound, she's sure it would have killed them. So much for Hand's insistence that Fitz would be safe. 

When her lungs are full and the air is clear, she jumps upward and flies high into the air, where she can expels the gas harmlessly. By the time she gets back to the ground and is disguised as Jemma Morse once again, Fitz is finishing with his statement to Hand.

"He called you his greatest creation," says Hand. "He said you two are the same. That you have the same madness inside of you. What does that mean?"

"I don't know," answers Fitz. "He's mental. I told him he needs help."

"So I heard," says Hand. "But I also heard him say that he broke out of prison for you. Why?"

"I don't know, alright?" Fitz's hands are in fists like it's the only way he can keep them from flying. "I haven't seen him since I was eleven. I don't _want_ to see him. Whatever his plans are don't matter, because I want no part in them."

Agent Hand looks down at her notepad. "And yet," she says, "you begged for his life." She looks up, studying him. "Something to think about if you choose to continue to be a part of this investigation."

Hand leaves without another word, and Jemma fills the space Hand left. 

"Are you okay?"

She's confused at first, when the words come from his lips instead of hers, and she hesitates before she nods. Fitz nods, too.

"They're going to kill him," he says. "They're going to find him and then kill him."

"Not if we find him first," she offers.

"No, Jemma, I'm not going to . . ." He ducks his head, and he looks so small, so ashamed, and it's not fair. "I'm not going to make you commit a federal offense for me. This is . . . this is my . . . burden."

"Which means it's mine, too!"

He walks away, but she follows, feeling a righteous anger swelling in her chest, standing in front of him to make him look at her. "Fitz, think about everything you've done for me! After all that happened these past few months, becoming Supergirl, trying to . . . to be my true self—I wouldn't have been able to survive without you!"

She could put on her cape right now and fly, she could spell it out in the clouds, she could burn it into a mountain to make him understand, to make everyone see. But Fitz only stares back at her, eyes shining. 

"You'd be fine," he says, taking a shuttering breath. "I mean, the suit is a polymer blend with ten layers of treated composite material that monitors your vitals and is perfect for an array of tactical missions, but—" He shakes his head, pinching his eyes closed. "But you, Jemma? With . . . with everything that you can do, and everything that you are?" He turns away from her, clenching his hands into fists. "You don't really need me."

She comes up behind him slowly, putting a careful hand on his shoulder. "You're wrong."

He covers his face with his hands, murmuring dissent, and she wishes he would just cover her hand with his, that he would turn around and look in her eyes and see the truth in them. But he's still shaking his head, still saying, "No, no," and her voice is the only weapon she has. 

"I do!" He takes a step forward, making her hand slide off of him, and it hurts. It's worse than a thousand punches to the stomach. She has to say _something_. "I know what it's . . . what it's like to feel isolated and alone," she says, taking a deep breath as memories surge into her throat. "I was ripped way from my world and put on a mission to protect my cousin, and I couldn't even do . . ." She stops, trying to hold back tears and hoping that they're worth it. "But when . . . when I'm with you, I never feel that way." She sees him twitch, and when he finally, finally, turns around, she presses on. "So when your dad says he misses you, well, I believe him! If you weren't in my life, I . . . I'd be lost, too." She takes in a sharp breath as it hits her, this image of a life with no Fitz, no morning grumblings or snack requests. Nothing holding her together when she falls apart. No one telling her she's still a hero when she fails. Somehow, she's jumped onto a runaway train of thought and she just crashed into something that might destroy her. It's not until she steps forward and puts her hand back on his shoulder that the swirling world starts to slow down.

He tilts his head to the side, finally looking at her when she doesn't want him to. Can he see the tears collecting on the rims of her glasses? Does he know how naked he feels? He must know something, because his hand finally makes his way to hers, and his mouth bends into a smile.

"I have a creepy little doll that I could give you for when you're lonely," he says.

She laughs in spite of her tears, and this is what she really means; this is what he truly is to her. The smile they share turns into a frown as reality laps at their heels. She looks away.

"Please, Fitz, just . . . let me be there for you. The way you've always been there for me." She's about to blush with how cheesy it sounds, with the look in his eyes that she doesn't understand, but she's distracted when her phone beeps. She looks down at the text and tries not to curse. "Except, not in the next twenty minutes. May just texted me." 

The glint in Fitz's eyes fades as he gives a solemn nod. "Go."

* * *

It's long after the work day is done when Jemma finds herself in the kitchen, shaking quicksand off her cape. She's still trying to calm her nerves when the knocks come on her door, and it can only be him. She hesitates before opening it, steeling herself for the hurricane she's about to bring into her apartment. He storms in with his hands flying.

"What were you thinking?"

She folds her arms and closes his eyes.

"You just . . . you waltz into his old warehouse? Without even calling your sister?"

She purses her lips together. "Bobbi was on a mission; I couldn't ask her to—"

"So SHIELD couldn't spare a single agent, after all you've done for them? Jemma!" His hair is already a mess, but he keeps carding his fingers through it. "Or you just didn't think to tell anyone, including me. And for all I know, something could have—you could have . . . you could have been killed."

She shakes her head at him. "I didn't know how they'd react. I couldn't risk it."

"He's not worth it, Jemma."

She remembers Radcliffe's eyes when he first stepped out of the shadows, how they asked so much and gave nothing. A chill goes down her spine.

"I didn't do it for him."

"Well, I'm not worth it, either."

"Fitz."

He ignores her plea, reaching instead into his pocket for his phone.

"Who are you calling?"

He lets out a heavy breath. "Agent Hand."

She snatches the phone from his grip. "No, Fitz. You know they'll kill him!"

"Maybe . . ." He's pacing, the anger vibrating off of him. "Maybe they should. Maybe that's what's best."

Her heart sinks. "Fitz, you don't want that on your conscience. I'll find him, and I'll bring him back to prison."

"And what?" He stops cold, head down. "Let him hurt you? He's smart, Jemma. He'll find a way. It's like there's . . . there's something rotten inside of him. I hoped he could be helped, but what if—"

"You said that he was sick! You said one day he was normal, and the next he was . . . maybe he can go—"

"No," he says, "no, it can't be like that."

She folds her arms, challenging him. "Why not? The brain is still a mysterious thing! Stress builds up, and sometimes, things like this happen."

"Then what's to stop it from happening to me?"

The world stops, and it's like she's watching his words hang in the air between them. Could Fitz . . . could he really worry that . . .

She didn't know what to say, or even think, but Fitz sat down on the couch, and she found herself sitting next to him.

"His name is Leopold Holden Radcliffe, did you know that? We used to be inseparable. We looked the same, we talked the same. We liked the same things."

"You were science pals," she says.

He looks at her, like he's trying to read the thoughts behind her eyes. "And now he says that he has plans for me, that we're the same. What if he's right?"

"He can't be."

She sees the tears forming in his eyes and she almost reaches out to wipe them away.

"You don't know that. I've got his DNA in every part of me. It's like one of his bombs, except I can't disarm it. It's biological. And it's going to turn me into him."

"That's not going to happen. You're a good person, Fitz. And even if it did, which it won't—"

He turns to her, incredulous. "What? you and Bobbi will cook up some cure? The Morse sisters swoop in and save the day? It doesn't work like that, Jemma. People used to say that my father was good, too, but he cracked! And now, every time I'm angry, I think, could this be it? Could this be the day that I lose everything?"

She scoots closer to him, desperate for words. "The day that your father killed those people is like the day my planet exploded. One moment that changed our lives forever. But when our worlds fell apart, we didn't give into rage and hate, like he did. We tried to be more than that. Heroes." She finds his trembling hands and holds them in hers. "We're inseparable, too. And I'm not going to let anyone mess with—mmmph."

It takes her a second to realize that he's kissing her, that his hand is at the nape of her neck to keep her close. He kisses her wildly, desperately, and her head is spinning so fast that she pushes him away by reflex. She's in shock and on fire, and she tries to mumble some kind of explanation when he stands up to leave.

"I shouldn't have done that."

"No, Fitz, it's fine."

If anything, he's even more agitated than before, but she can't seem to make herself follow him.

"It's not fine. You're my best friend in the world, and you're just trying to help, and I never should have—I'm going to go."

"Fitz, no!"

But he's gone before she knows it and she's helpless to stop him, stuck on the couch with a buzzing in her brain and the taste of him on her lips.

"You're my best friend, too," she says.

* * *

She's not sure how long it is until Bobbi walks through the door, but it feels like hours. It feels like an eternity of that one moment on repeat, of the look in his eyes when he leaned in to kiss her, of the feel of his hands and his lips and his fear. 

"I saw the reports. Are you okay? Mack says you didn't call him."

"I'm fine," she says, though she knows she's wringing her hands. "It was a little touch and go for a moment, but I got out alright. Only problem was I didn't bring Radcliffe with me."

Bobbi sits down next to her in a huff. "You should have called me."

"You were busy."

"Then you should have waited until I wasn't busy. You're still new at this."

Jemma throws her hands in the air. "I know, I know. Fitz said the same thing. He was furious. And I did try to wait for you, but I couldn't. Because—"

"Because it was Fitz."

Jemma whips her head around to find those knowing eyes she's known for so long. In a way, they're the most familiar thing there is on this planet. Not that Jemma likes the feel of them boring into her skull just now. She looks away.

"How long were you two a thing while I was in Russia?"

Jemma balks at her. "A thing? Fitz and I? No, we never . . . I mean, I never _dreamed_ —"

'Okay," says Bobbi, "I'm just going to stop you right there. You see, if this were an interrogation, you would have given me about nine visual cues to put you away. Maybe ten. Are you sure you can handle this whole secret identity thing?"

Jemma rolls her eyes, so furious at how wrong Bobbi is that she doesn't know where to start.

"See," Bobbi continues, "you keep talking about your cousin's friend—Trip—but it's Fitz that you run into burning buildings for. Fitz is the reason you're worrying."

"Fitz," Jemma counters, "Fitz did something that caught me completely off guard."

Bobbi smiles. "Ah, those three little words."

"Yes! Well, no," says Jemma, thinking better of it. "Not really. He just . . . we was here, and we were talking about his dad. He was scared, so I tell him it'll be okay, and he just . . ."

"He kissed you," Bobbi says.

"Yes! And then, and then I . . . well, he says he's sorry, and then before I have a moment to process what happened and how I feel about it, he's just gone." She looks down at her wringing hands. "And I'm here."

"And now you've had a moment." Bobbi nudges Jemma with her shoulder. "And I bet you've done nothing _but_ think about it. So? You have it figured out yet?"

"No!" Jemma finds that she's standing. When had that happened? "I mean . . . I mean, his father is out there, somewhere, and the FBI has orders to kill him."

Bobbi puts an arm across the back of the couch and presses her lips together. "Jemma, I know you don't want to hear it, but sometimes it's the right thing to do. I'd rather kill one murderer than let that murderer kill more innocents."

"Yeah, but it will—" It will break Fitz's heart, she thinks. It will tell him that he's past saving. And, despite everything, she doesn't want him to know what it's like to be without a father. "I just . . . I want to do what's best for everybody."

Bobbi's eyes search her from head to toe. "You want justice."

She wants it all to be over. She wants to go back where she was before this all started.

"I want my best friend back," she says.

"Well," says Bobbi, "I think you should call him."

Jemma gapes at her. "No. I couldn't possibly—"

But Bobbi has already stolen her phone and dialed Fitz's number, and now her eyes sparkle as the phone rings.

"He's a good guy. Jemma. He'll understand if you don't feel the same way. Assuming you _don't_ feel the same way."

"Bobbi, I—"

But they both pause when the call goes to voicemail, and Bobbi frowns.

"Doesn't he _always_ take your calls?"

Jemma feels the blush in her cheeks, but says nothing.

"Hang on. That's my work phone."

Bobbi unlocks her phone to read the text, and her eyes grow wide.

"Jemma, it's Fitz," she says. "He's gone missing."

* * *

When she gets there, she finds Fitz with trembling hands and a finger on the trigger. It's a toy gun, one that should shoot bubbles or silly string, but she can tell from the sweat on his brow that the threat is real. He's pale and shaking from head to toe, like his brain wants to point the gun at this man, but his whole body is revolting. Only his target, a toy tycoon by the name of John Garrett, acts like this is all a joke.

"Come on, kid," Garrett says, "put that thing down before you hurt yourself."

Fitz's eyes dart from right to left, and it's only then that she realizes that this toy store is filled with parents and kids, many of whom are terrified. None more than Fitz himself.

When she sees him squeeze his eyes shut, she gets there before he manages to fire and finds that his aim is way off, anyway. Garrett starts to hunch over, hands raised out in front of him, and Agent Hand's team is ordered to fire.

They're aiming right at Fitz.

She jumps in front of him and watches as the bullets bounce off her suit, each one feeling like a punch. Then she digs her boots into the floor until the gunshots stop, the spent bullets jingling on the tile. She stands there boldly as the silence grows, never more sure that this is who she is and what she is meant to do. She will stand between this good, kind man and protect him those whole would do him harm. She will defend him at all costs.

"He, uh, he planted ten bombs here," Fitz stutters, and she wonders if he hears the way his gun crashes to the floor. "You have to find them before he blows this place up. He told me . . ." This where the tears slip out of his red-rimmed eyes, where he's too ashamed of himself to finish. He doesn't have to.

She looks all around the room and through it, trying to find little gears and wires in places they shouldn't be, counting to ten and making a plan.

"Everybody over here. Now!"

They're already cowering, so it's easy to shepherd the shoppers into the safest corner of the room. It's when she hears Radcliffe's voice that she looks downward through the floor and sees him with a tablet in his hand.

"Sorry, son," Radcliffe says to himself, "but what kind of father would I be if there weren't consequences for disobedience?"

She only has seconds before he'll press a command into the tablet and set off the bombs, so she has to think fast. She leaps up into the air and uses her heat vision to set off the fire sprinklers while blowing a wall of ice between the shoppers and the bombs. The ice shatters with a loud _boom!_  , and the shards fly after her when the concussive force knocks her to the ground. Fitz was thrown back, too, but a look in his eyes tells her that he's not hurt. He could have been, though. The used bullets bear testimony of it as they dig into her ribs. It's her anger that propels her into the air and after Radcliffe. It's her fury at what could have happened to Fitz and to hundreds of innocent children. She's overwhelmed by rage when she finds and corners Radcliffe, and this time she doesn't take the time to be careful or polite. She grabs him and off she goes, ignoring his terrified pleas and frenzied threats. She doesn't stop until they're at the federal penitentiary and she can shove him at the guards, until she sees for herself that he's once again behind bars.

She doesn't stop until she sees justice done.

* * *

She's holding a pad of paper and waiting. She's not sure for what. Will her heartbeat slow to a normal (Kryptonian) rhythm if she stays out here? It only seems to be picking up speed. Her nerves turn to fidgeting, and her fidgeting turns into an absolute need to walk into their office, march right up to Fitz's desk, and awkwardly ask if he wants in on their Thai food order.

"I'm not hungry," he says, stubbornly refusing to look up from his screen. "I've got a lot of work to do."

"You're playing video games," she says. His head droops as he pauses the game, and she feels the need to step closer to him and lean against his desk.

"Your dad is back in prison," she offers, "we can go back to our normal, Radcliffe-free lives."

"I shouldn't have kissed you."

It comes out in a whisper, a confession and self-directed admonition all at once. She's been shot three dozen times today, but it's the guilt on his face that stings.

"Jemma, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she says, taking a shaky breath. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," he says.

She suddenly unable to look at him and desperate to see him all at once. X-ray vision isn't enough, she decides. She needs a way to scrutinize every inch of his face while simultaneously shielding her own face from him.

"My—my dad kept his feelings bottled up for years," Fitz continues, "covering them up with smiles and pretending everything was okay until he exploded." He shakes his head, frowning. "All because he was a coward. Like me."

"No," says Jemma, "Fitz."

But he's not listening to her with that look on his face, the one that tells her he's drowning in his own guilt. But what does he have to be guilty of, really? Being honest? She does the same thing when she puts on her suit.

"Look, I know I ruined everything. I should have—I should have told you how I felt a long time ago. Maybe I could have . . . but I was too scared. I knew you'd . . . you'd never want someone like me, even before you were Supergirl."

"Fitz."

"You're just, you're more than your powers, you know?" He sniffs, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "You're smart, and kind, and sometimes I wonder what's wrong with all the men who _aren't_ in love with you. You're obviously . . . you're obviously the—what are you doing?"

She hardly knows, only that she's moving closer to him. Her hand hits something on his desk, and she almost catches it before she realizes that it's one of Radcliffe's dolls. She uses her x-ray vision to scan it instead and is relieved to know that it's not a bomb when it hits the floor.

" _I love you_ ," says the doll, " _do you love me_?"

She answers it by sitting down in Fitz's lap, by sliding her hand from his chest to his neck, by kissing him. She does it slowly, carefully, telling him and herself what she means. His hands go to her waist, and she might as well be a part of him. Maybe she always has been.

He breaks the kiss, and she watches his closed eyes, hoping for a hint of a smile on his lips. Instead, he winces.

"You didn't have to do that," he says, "I would have still been your friend. I always will be. We can go right back to the way things were, just as long as you know how I feel."

Her heart is a puzzle with pieces slotting into place, and she feels more at peace than she has since this whole mess started.

"The problem with that," she says, "is that now I know how _I_ feel."

Her thumbs grazes the stubble on his cheek, and she feels him shiver.

"Y-yeah?" he asks. "Like what?"

Can she be as brave as he is? Bullets and bombs are one thing, but this can rip through her skin.

She watches him as the words escape her, hoping he'll be able to read her mind. The only time she's felt more scared was when she climbed in that pod and left Krypton for good. The future is just as uncertain; her mission just as clear.

Fitz clears his throat and moves to stand up, forcing Jemma to do the same. She sees something flash in his eyes before he trains his eyes on the floor and fumbles in an attempt to lean on the desk.

"I don't want Thai food," he finally says. Jemma's about to ask him what he means before she catches the abandoned food order out of the corner of her eye. 

"Oh," she says.

"What about," he says, swaying a little the left, "what about dinner?"

Jemma looked at the pad of paper, then back at him. "But I thought—"

"No, that's not . . ." He gestures vaguely towards the coworkers in the next room. "Not with them. Just . . . me and you. Somewhere else."

Jemma isn't quite sure what she said, or if she said anything at all. She only knows that one moment, she's standing in front of him with her heart in her throat, and the next she's walking out the door with his fingers magically threaded through hers. She looks up and it's like the years are falling off of him, like he's just shrugged off the weight of the world. Somehow, she feels the same way.

"Do you think," he says when they stop at a streetlight, giddy and out of breath, "do you think you could take me up there someday?"

She immediately looks upward and frowns. "Where?"

He shrugs at her. "Doesn't really matter where, really. Just . . . up."

He points to the sky, and the image of soaring through the clouds with him makes her grin from ear to ear.

"We'll have to see about that," she teases. A blush spreads from his cheek to his neck, and he's so precious to her that she decides right then that she can never let him get away.

So, faster than a speeding bullet, she kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks goes to my lovely beta [recoveringrabbit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/recoveringrabbit/works) for all the time and talent she put into helping me with this!
> 
> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


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